Bird song, The quiet of winter melts. The cold grip that clung to the trees Exhales at winter’s end. I am wide awake to a yet Unoccupied Spring On the cusp, The verge of new life. The cycle begins. The seeds of intention are planted. I patiently wait to receive The beauty, The gifts. I’m ready for what’s next, Even while stepping into the unknown.
The Spring Crocus
The wild darling on the cusp of spring The crocus has found its way to the surface Having traveled over and over In the same track as its predecessors. The cold earth has found a softness, An opening. And the lush green breathes into me. The fragileness of new life. The sun breathes out energy. The seedlings desperately alchemize And rapidly transforms. Their ripe green petals mimicking grass Kiss and pepper the earth. I marvel at the emerald blades That try to camouflage into the lawn. They are hardy and make the perennial trip. They wake me from my winter slumber And remind me, even in the bitter harshness of cold and darkness, This too shall pass. And my heart leaps to join the beauty, To wear green and lie in the grass Warm to the touch from the golden sun. I touch the delicate petals And thank them for this yearly gentle reminder. A smile forms on my face. The mourning doves have returned this year. I wonder if the young couple will find a more hardier, sturdier nesting place. Nature is the greatest teacher.
In Winter we take it Inside
Nature is asleep. The barren trees A stark contrast Against the sky. What once blossomed A forgotten memory. What was jubilant And alive Now quiet, small and dark. I take the cue and Bring it inside. Even in winter I wish to bloom To continue to grow In mind and spirit To stay connected And tap into my inner And outer strength. The plant on my window sill Finds warmth and nourishment. The bird’s wing takes flight In search for what I know not. Its determined flight Beats into the sky. There is no respite When on the hunt. We hunt for Warmth and shelter. We hunt for understanding And being truly listened to And seen. We seek counsel And acceptance. In winter we take it inside. The nature of the season Demands it. And I take the cue and bloom.
I circle around the sun Even though physically I have stayed and slept Within the same walls. It may appear to all my senses That I embody the same place Time and again. However, the sky tells a different story. In winter, the sun rises a bit more To the right in the eastern sky. Yes, daylight is short. But the minutes of sunshine Tack on to the days Even if I’m not paying attention. The world is quiet now. There is less bird song. Yet if I get quiet And listen, I can hear what the winter bird sings. I circle around the sun And have faith that Day will return After a long wintery night. I have faith that the season will change As it always does And is meant to. Further evidence that the journey Around the sun is Always in motion Never stagnant Never ceasing to surprise And delight. The momentum forward Is not always linear. But I have faith That I play a part In the great bird song today And the song that is not yet sung But is written on a paper airplane Caught in a breeze On its way To be heard and sung.
What’s missing these days?
Time to pursue my creativity; Too many distractions and obligations That eat away my energy. And then when it's a good time to do the one thing I most want to do, I put it off, yet again. In the moment, Dusting the shelf just seems easier than writing. Just when I’m getting myself Motivated to start, There’s always one more thing to do. And that seems to take priority Over my creative pursuit. What’s missing? Time to connect to myself and others. A sense that there isn’t enough time; That I could or should be doing more. Although, how can that possibly be true? What ifs, coulds and shoulds are easy to be explain and defend When there’s no evidence to the contrary. And it takes me further away From my desires, my dreams. Even though I know the reasons are untrue That I can prioritize myself, My creativity, My movement, And the momentum gets started again. Everything ebbs and flows. Energy and time. Winter is the season of quiet reflection Of taking stock And not regret for what never was And couldn't ever be.
The cold bitter wind Nips at my nose and my ears. I tighten my winter hat Snug around my head And walk on. My legs stride on Over the sidewalk Into the street. A biting chill enters my lungs. I must walk on. I marvel at my speed And surprise myself at the quickened pace; Wanting to lighten the load of thick gloves and Puffy winter coat. To feel warm again To breathe steady and rhythmic. I throw open the door. Once I step inside The heat engulfs me And I sigh in relief Unzipping and shedding Layer upon layer Forgetting that I’ll have to Step out into the world Once again After the cold has become A distant memory.
I marvel at the light
At winter solstice darkness dominates the days And light seems to fade shortly after its arrival. I marvel at the light. At the sunrise The neighbor’s chimney smoke Graceful and floating Like a dancer in the sky. The sunset that takes my breath away And I linger to look A little longer. I marvel at the light. Everything seems aglow Orange and burning Then quick pinks and purple Gone in a flash. Over and over again. I marvel at the light. I surprise myself And take it all in. Darkness may seem to Envelope and surround. And the bitter chill Nips at my nose. The light that appears is just a little bit brighter, a little bit more alive. I marvel at the light. We take in the light and create our own Be it holiday lights Or candlelight. This little light I hold in my hand It warms our hearts Through and to The brighter days ahead.
A walk in January
It is unusually warm today in the 50s in southern New England. The piles of snow from last week’s blizzard are starting to melt. Drops occasionally drip on my head from the historical buildings as I walk on by. The snow is dirty. Rain is in the near forecast. It’s gray and cloudy. Remnants of holiday cheer are strewn here and there: bits of broken pine and evergreen and a solo red ornament missing its hook lay on my path.
The snow is melting. I see the turf of green grass at the edge of a wall. There’s litter, a cigarette butt, and tiny pine needles reminding me of what once was there. It’s the kind of day that you wish you could curl up and take a nap or read a book. Rain is on its way.
Whenever I take a walk, I’m reminded that the simple act of walking clears up my mind and breaks up my workday. I will go back to my office and eat a cara cara orange, my favorite fruit this time of year. I’ll enjoy its bountiful juice and eat a piece of sunshine to brighten this dreary day.